Chapter 37
EVER
I wake up inside a dark room with my hands tied behind my back and my feet bound. My head throbs, and something sticky clings to my eyelashes and smears my lips.
I lick at the wetness. Metallic. Blood. A large figure, dressed in all black with a balaclava on, sits kitty-corner to me with his elbows on his knees, hunched forward, studying me with cold eyes like I’m a science experiment for dissection.
I tip my chin at him. “You’re a coward for concealing your identity. ”
He’s sitting away from the windows and has a view of me and the door. There’s no way in or out except for the door and the large window in the motel room. I bet we’re on the ground floor. Easy to get in and out. This guy is smart.
“You’re the one who put the hit on Bobby. You murdered Carlos. How could you? He didn’t do anything to you.”
Carlos was ruthless, but he used diplomacy rather than threats or scare tactics.
“Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.” His voice is calm and lethal.
He controls his emotions well. I swallow down the fear coating the inside of my throat and stare back at him, my gaze unwavering.
With his attitude and male ego, this man is like the guys I eat with every other Sunday.
Give them an inch, show weakness, and they will own my soul.
I will not give this man that kind of power.
I am my father’s child, and he is in prison for murder.
“Bobby will come for me. My father’s men will finish what he started. If you want to live, let me go.”
“What’d I say about keeping your mouth shut?”
“Let me go!” My head throbs. My throat is hoarse. Nausea hits me out of nowhere, and I lose my lunch on the floor.
He shoves off the chair. Grabbing my hair, he forces my head upward with a hard yank. Sharp pains scatter across my scalp. Tears sting the corners of my eyes. I can’t keep my food down. I throw up. Saliva clings to my lip. I lose more of my food.
“Stop barfing!”
“I . . . I can’t. I hit my head hard on the window.” I shake my head. He tightens his hold on my hair. My head spins. “Please, take me to the hospital.” Breathing hurts. I have a concussion and probably broken ribs.
“Stop or I’ll stop it for you.” He holds a roll of electric tape in front of me.
I’ll aspirate my vomit if he tapes up my mouth. I won’t die like that. I’d rather he knock me out.
I spit on his face. “Go to hell.”
He sneers. “You first.”
Quicker than I can take my next breath, I’m clocked on the side of the head with the butt of his shotgun. My head snaps back. I blink and see it’s not a shotgun in his hand.
Fuck.
It’s a sniper rifle.
For the second time tonight, my world darkens.